Gateshead Revisited
by Prieda Solo
Summary: Two short oneshots about the young Severus Snape. No fluff, no romance, no violence, just a couple of small sketches.
1. Home

Disclaimer: The world and characters of Harry Potter are the intellectual property of J.K Rowling and also seem to belong to Warner Bros for reasons I'm still trying to figure out. This is a work of fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

Home

A dusty road, a grimy street, and a young boy walking home with white peacocks in his head.

His shoes are a size too big, and the untied laces drag along the bricks of the pavement. One hand is weighed down by a large shopping bag, the other is thrust deep into his pocket. He's staring at the ground, long curtains of greasy hair obscuring his face, keeping it hidden.

He turns the corner into a narrow alley, his foot brushing against a discarded bottle and scuffing the cigarette ends littered in the gutter. A year ago he would never have sneered at the scene, he does so now.

He's changed this year. He's seen how the other half live. He's walked on a lawn with white peacocks, and stolen a tenner (it doesn't count as stealing, not from _him_), to pay for robes that aren't that smart, but at least fit him. He's taken the train down to London, and the Flu to Wiltshire and seen the Malfoy's mansion, riches that he'd never truly imagined could exist outside Hogwarts.

The shopping bag digs into his hand. His other hand is curled around the handle of his wand. He won't use it, he can't use it yet, but he doesn't dare leave it at home encase _he_ finds it.

He'd like to use it, he's often very sorely tempted, but that would lead to expulsion from Hogwarts, his wand snapped in half. The thought of that happening is enough to stay his hand. Leaving Hogwarts, to spend his life stuck here…

Snape thinks he'd rather die.

He remembers Lucius's mansion. The dinner party, the polite quiet conversation of the guests, the tinkling music, the lights on the lawn. It's another world. The world Lucius lives in, the world Potter and Black live in. The world that's so far away from the harsh reality of Spinner's end.

He's jerked back to reality by the sound of voices behind him, the thump of booted feet, the shadow that he imagines falling over the pavement.

"Hey Snape, what's in the bag?"

He knows what's going to happen next. Grabbing the bag tightly he starts to run, the shopping bashing against his legs, the sound of the inevitable pursuit starting behind him. When he grows up, he's going to find out whoever it was that thought up the Reasonable Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry and make them suffer.

His shoes are too big.

He wishes beer wasn't so heavy.

-----

The door creaks when he opens it and Eileen shouts, "Who's there?"

He doesn't reply, but instead walks into the narrow dining room and drops the bag on the table, "Dad not back yet?"

She emerges from the tiny kitchen, wiping her hands on a faded grey tea-towel. "Came and went. He's in a foul temper; I'd keep out his way tonight if I were you."

Scowling he drops his head, letting the hair flop over his face. He wonders how he's meant to keep out of anyone's way in a house with only four small rooms.

"You've squashed the bread Sev, and two of the eggs are broken."

He shrugs and turns away, making sure she can't see his face.

"At least the milk hasn't split like last time." She hands him the two six-packs, "Stick these in the fridge, and try not to break anything else."

He does so, then empties the bin, dragging the clanking black bag out to the end of the garden. He's got some time now, time alone with her, time to tell her before _he_ gets back.

"I got my results Mam."

She looks up as he walks back into the room, "And?"

He nods, "Good."

She gives him a sharp look, "What did you get?"

Deep breath, "O for Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. E in Charms, Arithmancy, Astronomy, Ancient Runes, Transfiguration and History of Magic and Acceptable for Herbology." The last three words come out in a mumbled rush.

She gives a short nod. "Not bad."

His heart is thumping painfully loudly. He hadn't realised quite how much her opinion would matter to him. He gives a brief smile but she's looking at the clock and doesn't notice.

"He'll be out for a good few hours yet. How about some tea?"

He nods. The unspoken words drift between them: After tea he can go up to his room and keep out the way when his father gets back.

"I need four eggs for breakfast and you broke the other two." She disappears back into the kitchen and he pulls out the chair that doesn't wobble and gratefully collapses onto it, "I think there's some cheese left though."

He thinks of the buffet at Lucius's mansion. Salmon, pate and caviar, "Cheese will be fine."

"It better be." There is a clang as a pan lid escapes from a cupboard. Lucius says he's never even been into a kitchen.

Worlds apart. But Snape knows he has a way out. He has Hogwarts and Hogwarts has Mulciber and Avery and the Lestranges and Malfoys. People who know other people, people who had power.

People in houses with white peococks. And Snape knew there was a way to join them. He'd seen the tattoo on Lucius's forearm and known, instantly, that this was the way into the elite.

This was the way to get revenge.


	2. School

Disclaimer: The world and characters of Harry Potter are the intellectual property of J.K Rowling and also seem to belong to Warner Bros for reasons I'm still trying to figure out. This is a work of fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

School

"Riddikulus!"

The hooded cloaked figure bears down on him, breath rattling in its throat. Dimly, through the haze of black sparks filling his vision, he can hear his mother sobbing, his father shouting. He wonders how on earth he's supposed to make the Dementor look even vaguely amusing.

There are not many things he finds amusing anyway.

"R-r-riddikulus!"

His vision goes blurry. He tried desperately not to faint, not in front of the class, not in front of Black and Potter.

"Riddikulus." He manages faintly. His legs collapse from under him; Potter sniggers and Black gives a triumphant shout of laughter that makes the Bogart burst into a million pieces.

Slightly confused by this sudden turn of events the teacher steps forward and hurriedly gives a quick lecture on Boggarts, distributing ten points to Black for destroying the thing. Snape pulls himself shakily upright, wondering why it all has to be so _unfair_. Whenever Black and Potter are involved, they always seem to walk off with the credit.

They're given an essay on Boggarts, but when Snape goes to the library he heads straight to the section on Dementors. There's no way he can make that terrible hooded figure laughable, he'll have to defeat it on its own terms.

He groans aloud when he finds the section on Patronus's. A happy thought might be even harder to manage than a funny one. Why do so many of these defences rely on stupid emotions, on feelings that he's never had much chance to feel?

Happy thoughts. He scowls. What happy thoughts does he have?

He settles for the time Slytherin won the house cup two years ago. He'd felt pleased then, although naturally he'd been dreading the journey home the next day.

"Expecto Patronum!"

No result.

"Expecto Patronum!"

He tries a few more times before sinking disgustedly onto his bed. He's missed dinner to practise this in the deserted dormitory and, predictably, it's not working. Probably Black and Potter would manage it first time, they have plenty of happy memories.

He racks his brains again, trying to remember a time he's felt happy, truly happy, without the associated feelings of guilt, anger, or terror at being discovered.

And then he remembers:

_Sitting in his room, head bowed over a book that he's not reading. Another argument breaks out downstairs but he's not listening. He's trying not to stare at the window._

_It's taking a lot of effort._

_There's a tap at the window._

_Heart hammering, he ignores it. It'll be the wind, or a tree branch. He's not going to look up now and find all his hopes dashed. It can't be for him, it can't be. He's not good enough, he's useless, how he can even begin to imagine that they'd want him…_

_The tapping again. He looks up, hesitant, and his breath catches in his throat as he sees it. A great tawny owl sitting patiently outside the window._

_It won't be for him, it can't be for him. He's too stupid, too clumsy, too hopeless._

_His trembling fingers undo the latch. The owl hops in and drops the letter in front of him._

_**Mr Severus Snape, The Smallest Room, Spinner's End.**_

_He sees the Hogwarts crest on the seal and his heart begins to soar…_

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Something dazzling silver bursts from the end of his wand. He gives a shout of triumph and then a gasp of disbelief as he suddenly realises what the glittering silver creature actually _is_.

They're still doing Boggarts next lesson. And once again Snape collapses, this time into a dead faint as the Boggart-Dementor approaches.

He's decided that fainting is the lesser of two evils.

If Potter_ ever_ discovers what form his Patronus takes…

---

---

I wrote so much stuff after reading DH, only to find, upon reading over my scribbles, that most of it was utterly awful. These sketches I am quite pleased with though, (the first one more so than the second), despite the wierdish tense.

Criticisms, opinions and reviews are all highly appreciated as always :)


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